"Tristan?" I asked cautiously but he said nothing and just kept sobbing like a small child. It was really unnerving, seeing a forty-five year old...a drunk forty-five year old crying like that in the middle of the night like that.
"Tristan?" I called again, moving closer to him. "Tristan, what's wrong with you?"
When he didn't reply again, I scooted down on the floor beside him and slightly placed my hand on his shoulder. He stopped and after a while stared up at me. His eyes were almost bloodshot and red and it startled me for a bit. What happened to him? Was he sick?
"What's wrong?" I asked softly.
"Nobody loves me, Mia," He whispered, looking lost as he stared blankly at the floor. "Nobody loves me. Not my parents, not my children...not even you. I am so alone...all alone,"
I
